“Call your mother,” he ordered.
Call my mother? That was probably the last thing I felt like doing in that moment. It was
definitely not what I had ever expected Cameron to say. “Why?”
“She left you three messages. Sounded urgent.” His voice seemed unnecessarily guarded.
“You’ve been listening to my phone messages?” I didn’t know what made me more upset: the
fact that he had totally violated my privacy, or the fact that I had probably only missed three
calls—from my mother, nonetheless—since disappearing from the face of the earth and that
Cameron now knew how pathetic my other life was.
He lifted one eyebrow and nudged me to pick up the phone. In order words, he wasn’t asking me
to call my mother. Sighing, I climbed out of hibernation and picked up the phone. I went down
the list of missed calls and found that my mother hadn’t been the only one who had called. I
couldn’t help but casually bring this to Cameron’s attention.
“Looks like Jeremy called a bunch of times too. Did he leave any messages?” I feigned
innocence.
He glowered in an affirmative response. The fact that my heart leapt at that precise moment had
nothing to do with this Jeremy guy.
“And?” I continued, growing amused by his scowl.
“And nothing. He left a bunch of messages asking why you were mad at him … the guy sounds like
a doorknob, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t know that doorknobs could talk.”
“They don’t. They just squeak and spin in a circle.”
I tried to not dignify his response with a further reply, but I just couldn’t contain myself.
“So, I should probably call him back too, then. It might be urgent.”
He grinned even wider; like I had fallen for the trap—hook, line, and sinker. “No worries. He
’ll never call you again.”
Horrific thoughts suddenly ran through my head. “Oh my God, Cameron! What did you do to him!”
Cameron eyed me, and his face contorted as he understood my meaning. “Definitely not what you
apparently think I’m capable of.” He was offended. I was afraid that I had ruined his good
mood—but he quickly regained his grin, antsy to finish his story. “I got Rocco to call this
Jeremy guy last night and pretend to be calling from a hospital in … Sweden or Switzerland, I
forget … I was laughing so hard … something about you having a highly contagious rash that
made your ears swell up … that he should run to a hospital right away to get his ears checked.
”
I couldn’t imagine Rocco pulling off any believable accent—but then again, Jeremy had probably
been the vainest guy that I had ever met and the mere possibility that his ears could enlarge
would have certainly distracted, devastated him.
“And Jeremy bought it?”
Cameron shrugged. “Like I said, your boyfriend’s a doorknob. Don’t know what you see in that
guy.”
“He’s a nice and normal guy,” I emphasized, for his benefit. He winced. “Anyway, he’s not
my boyfriend.”
“Well he was, wasn’t he?” he urged dryly.
I narrowed my eyes. “What difference does it make?”
“It doesn’t,” Cameron responded abruptly. “Call your mother.” He had quickly regained
control over himself.
I dialed my mother’s mobile number, and the line rang over and over. I hoped … and grimaced
when she finally picked up. All hopes were dashed.
“Emily? Is that you, honey?” my mom almost sweetly asked. Honey? There were so many things
wrong with that statement that I couldn’t even begin to analyze it.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Honey, where have you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for the last two weeks.”
The fact that I’ve been kidnapped and I’m being held against my will by a gang of drug dealers
in their million-dollar compound out in the middle of nowhere came to mind. “Er, sorry. I’ve
been really busy. What’s up?” was what I actually said.
I could hear the clinging and clanging of dishes and silverware in the background. It was close
to dinnertime in France.
“Well, you’ll never guess who we ran into.” Drumrolls played in my head as I paused for the
incredible revelation. “Mr. and Mrs. Jacobsons. You remember them don’t you?”
No. “Uh-huh,” I lied to keep things simple and quick.
“Well, imagine the coincidence of them meeting us … here! And guess what,”—more drumrolls—
“They brought their wonderful son Damien with them,” she gushed.
“Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“Yes, honey. What else is there?”
“Nothing,” I grumbled. “So what were you saying about the Jacobsons?”